Viral
by ladyspock7
Summary: A one-shot featuring that whacky couple 'sane' Oswald and Tetch virus Jim. Canon-typical violence, a touch of implied smut.


Oswald crouched against the wall with his hands clamped over his ears, curling up protectively around their plastic store bag of supplies, trying to block out the yells. Which changed to screams and groans accompanied by the meaty sound of fists hitting flesh and the crack of breaking bone, fading into one last awful gurgling noise before there was blessed silence.

For a few moments the only thing he could hear was the rabbit-fast thumping of his own heart and his own panicked breaths.

A hand touched his shoulder. He flinched violently.

"Oz, it's me," Jim rumbled. "It's all right."

"James," Oswald gasped with relief and got up as quickly as his throbbing knee allowed, Jim's strong, welcome grip steadying him under his elbows until he was securely upright again.

Oswald cupped the sides of Jim's jaw, fingertips brushing his neck. One of Jim's cheeks was spattered with blood but it didn't appear to be his, and Jim stared back at him, the solid black that filled his eyes having lost none of their intensity. He wasn't even breathing hard, and the veins popping out on his face were shrinking as the battle-rage left him.

Jim gently seized Oswald's wrists and pulled his hands down. "I'm fine, Oz." He half turned to view the alley with satisfaction. "Wasn't much of a challenge. None of them were infected."

Oswald glanced at the still forms scattered under the flickering sodium lights and quickly looked away again. Keeping hold of Jim's hand he caressed it, despite the blood on the knuckles, and lifted his head to meet Jim's glittering eyes. "How many?" he whispered.

A muscle jumped in Jim's jaw. "Five," he said. "They might have hurt you, Oswald. Two of them had knives."

Oh, yes, Oswald remembered hearing the distinctive 'snikt' of switchblades. That would explain how the nearest man had been disemboweled. Jim tended to use whatever was handy.

"Darling, I just wish you weren't so...so rough with people," Oswald said, feeling an unpleasant lump form in his stomach and work its way up. Even this mild reproach caused bile to rise.

Oswald swallowed. Horrific images from his days wired to Professor Strange's machine nipped at the edges of his mind, but he forced them down. If he vomited, as sometimes happened, Oswald wouldn't be able to lie about the cause. Lying was bad. Jim would get very upset at Professor Strange again and might try to hunt him down.

Oswald was so grateful for Strange's kindness, and he couldn't bear it if Jim were to...

Last time Oswald got sick he had to beg Jim to leave Strange alone. Jim hadn't exactly promised not to, but he'd seen how distressed Oswald was getting and dropped the matter.

Best to avoid the subject.

Fortunately, Jim didn't notice Oswald's brief internal struggle, as he'd lowered his eyes to where his hand was cradled within Oswald's. "Don't be mad, Oz."

Oswald's heart gave a painful lurch and tears stung his eyes. "Oh, of course not," he said, throwing his arms around Jim's neck. "I could never...I don't want to get mad anymore. It's not nice."

Jim's powerful arms wrapped around his back. "But it troubles you."

Oswald shook his head against Jim's shoulder, unable to answer for a moment. "I'm sure you're doing your best." He laughed shakily. "Who am I to judge? And you look after me so well."

Why, just last week Jim had only broken Detective Bullock's arm instead of killing him, so really, Jim was doing a lot better. It saddened him how Jim's friendship with Harvey had deteriorated, but Jim said not to worry about it, and so Oswald didn't.

Jim's arms tightened around him slightly, but Jim was so gentle, the power within him restrained, thrumming under his skin like a low-level electrical current. Oswald knew he had nothing to fear, for all that Jim was strong enough now that he could deadlift a full-grown man off the ground with one hand. Jim would never hurt him.

Jim pulled back just enough to fix his glittering black eyes on Oswald with fondness, a rare smile quirking up the corners of his mouth, though something more passionate stirred in the depths. Something more heated. "I love you."

"I love you too, Jim." A shiver of anticipation ran through him. A side effect of these unfortunate encounters with the public, if muggers could be considered members of the public, was that Jim was always so vigorous afterwards.

It wasn't wrong, was it? Oswald checked cautiously, as if probing an old wound, for the symptoms of physical distress that indicated he was being a bad person, but he felt all right. No painful lump, no bile. Just the pleasant warmth ignited by Jim's words and his touch, setting him afire.

So it must be all right. Making love wasn't wrong, not if it kept Jim with him in bed and off the streets, which had become far more deadly these days. Especially with Jim around.

Jim ran his hands down Oswald's back, slipping a hand under his coat to squeeze one of his buttocks. He pulled Oswald against him and the hard bulge in Jim's groin was impossible to ignore. "What do you say, babe?"

Unable to help himself, Oswald glanced at the plastic bag sitting where he'd left it by the wall, which contained some of their necesssities, including- a blush heated his cheeks- the lube. Replenishing their supplies had been the reason for the excursion in the first place.

Oswald drew a trembling breath, heat pooling in his belly. Jim would take him right here if he wanted, but that wouldn't be nice, not at all.

"Please, no. Not here. The...the smell..." The gutted man was almost at their feet.

"Yeah, it's pretty rank, huh?"

And someone might even have called the police, slim a chance as it was in this neighborhood. Oswald would have mentioned that, too, although Jim cared little about the police these days, except Jim chose that moment to press an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, and the grip and slide of teeth, lips, and tongue made the thought fly right out of Oswald's head.

His knees went weak and he clutched at Jim's shoulders. "Please, Jim, take me home."

"All right, babe," he murmured, and Oswald quivered at the hot breath ghosting over his skin. "Whatever you want."

He looped the plastic bag on his arm and retrieved Oswald's umbrella from where it had fallen and handed it to him, then held out his arm. "Better stick close to me, Oz," Jim said. "It's slippery."

Oswald hugged his umbrella and obediently stepped into the circle of Jim's arm.

"Look straight ahead. It'll be all right," Jim said. With one hand on the small of Oswald's back and the other under his elbow, he guided Oswald around the sprawling figures, the spattered blood and other unfortunate debris of battle. Oswald kept his eyes focused on the mouth of the alley.

Despite Jim's care, Oswald's foot accidentally kicked someone's leg.

A thin whimper rose from the man.

Jim's hands twitched. Oswald grabbed the lapel of Jim's coat.

"Terribly sorry about this," Oswald said over his shoulder, picking up the pace and keeping a tight grip on the straining Jim. "He's really doing much better." A low growl vibrated out of Jim's chest. "Jim, please. Be nice. For me?"

To his relief, Jim turned back around, albeit reluctantly, and allowed Oswald to tug him along.

"I'll call an ambulance," Oswald called back. "I'm sure you'll be fine, keep your chin up, everything happens for a reason, might want to put a little pressure on that, still seems to be bleeding rather heavily, have a good night!"

Once he felt Jim relax by his side, he released his hold on Jim's coat and fished his cell from his pocket to call 911. After all, it was the right thing to do.


End file.
